William
by E. H. Redlum
Summary: One-shot fic, taking place long before John Reese and in the beginning days of the machine. "As hard as he tried, he knew he wouldn't be able to change how Will looked at the world. His interests, his mannerisms, even his looks – they were all his father's."


Harold could see the boy planted on the front steps as he approached the lofty house.

A shock of brown hair was flopping all over in the wind, and Harold took note he was wearing a t-shirt and shorts despite the frigid breeze. His elbows were propped on his knees and his face resting in his hands, but he looked lost in thought – utterly unconcerned with the world around him.

"Will," Harold said as he approached, "what are you doing outside? It's freezing."

"I had to think," the boy said, lifting his face.

Although he looked entirely unsurprised to see Harold, his eyes were tired and red. Feeling a pang of remorse for the boy of only nine, Harold briefly halted his urgent mission to speak with him.

"What was wrong with thinking inside?" Harold asked with a small attempt at a smile.

"Dad and mom are in there," Will said miserably.

"Is everything alright?" he asked as he began to walk up the steps, "your father sent me a message telling me to get here as soon as I could – has something happened?"

"No," the boy said with guilty eyes, "and he didn't send you the message, I did."

Harold halted where he was, turning on his heel at the top of the steps. Looking down at the boy, he tried not to let his frustration show. Will didn't need to deal with the guilt of making him rush to the Ingram residency – he had enough on his plate already.

"And why exactly would you do that?" Harold asked with sympathetic eyes.

Will just shrugged and stared at his knees, avoiding eye contact. Sighing, Harold removed his jacket and hung it across the boy's shoulders. He lowered himself to the same step Will was on and stared forward until he was ready to talk. The day was dreary, and Harold couldn't decide if he was expecting rain or snow overnight. He wasn't particularly fond of either.

"I want," Will began, then paused, "I want to come and stay with you, Uncle Harold."

His voice broke then, and he tucked his head toward his knees as he began to sob. Not sure how to answer, or comfort him, Harold laid a hand on his back.

"It will be ok-"

Before he could get a sentence out, Will had uncurled himself and thrown his head into Harold's side. Curling his arm tighter around the small shaking frame, Harold became angry. Not with Will – the boy usually just wanted someone to listen to him. No, he was angry with Nathan. Angry with the man who was too busy cheating on his wife to pay attention to his son, and too caught up in fighting to try to make things right.

"It's going to be alright, Will," Harold said softly as he calmed down.

"I wish my dad was like you, Uncle Harold," he sniffled, "you understand me."

"Your dad might not always show it, but he's a lot like me," Harold resisted the urge to snort at that steadily growing lie before continuing, "and he loves you very much."

"It's my fault they argue all the time," he said as he squirmed closer to Harold, "I always start it."

"I can promise you that isn't true," Harold reassured him, "it may seem like it, but that's just because your father needs to turn his anger on someone. You aren't the cause, just the outlet."

"Does he talk to you about why he hates mom?" Will asked quietly.

"He doesn't hate your mother; he just disagrees with her sometimes. All adults fight – it doesn't mean they hate each other."

"But they don't love each other, not really," Will said.

Harold had no response, because he knew it was true. He wasn't about to agree and break the boy's heart, but he couldn't lie so blatantly. Not about that.

"You know, I bet we could convince your dad to let you stay with me for a night," he said after the pause, running his hand reassuringly along Will's back.

"Really?" he asked enthusiastically, perking up a little as he looked up at Harold.

"Really," Harold nodded, "we could call it another chess date."

"I hate chess, Uncle Harold," Will said, but he was smiling.

"I know," Harold sighed, ruffling his hair a little.

As hard as he tried, he knew he wouldn't be able to change how Will looked at the world. His interests, his mannerisms, even his looks – they were all his father's. Despite the resentment Will often felt for him, he was Nathan reincarnate. Harold just hoped he didn't drift down the reckless paths his father had a tendency to.

The sudden sound of a door flying open behind them made Harold jump a little, and he rose to his feet as the boy snapped away from him.

"Harold?" Nathan asked with bewilderment as Harold turned to face him.

"Hello, Nathan," Harold said as he examined his friend.

The hair that he usually combed sharply was disheveled, and the red tie he wore flopped loosely around his neck. His shirt was untucked over slacks that looked a size too big, but his face looked as smooth as always, ready to talk his way out of any situation.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his eyes flicking between his son and the small man.

"I was driving by and saw Will outside, I thought I'd stop and see if he wanted to come play chess with me," Harold said with a shrug.

"He shouldn't be outside," Nathan directed at Will, "it's freezing. Go inside and put some actual clothes on, Will."

Standing dutifully, Will shrugged off Harold's coat and handed it to him. Making eye contact with him bashfully, he quickly looked away and went through the front door, closing it softly behind him.

"Why are you really here, Harold? You have computers to play chess with," Nathan scoffed.

"Unlike you, I actually enjoy spending time with him," Harold responded.

"Don't you dare try to tell me I don't care about him," Nathan said as he moved closer, glaring down at Harold.

"I'm not insinuating that – I know you care about him, but he doesn't," Harold shrugged again.

"Oh bullshit," Nathan spat, "you don't even know him – he hates chess."

"I know he hates it, he hates all the same things you do, and if you don't do something, _anything_, I know he's going to turn out just like the example you're setting for him," Harold said accusingly.

"You think whisking him away and playing chess will change that, Harold? Do you think that just because you'll never have your own son you can change mine?" Nathan was shouting, and Harold was afraid for a moment he was about to get pushed down the stairs, "God dammit, you don't know what it's like to have a family, you never will – you don't know how hard it is!"

Harold dropped his gaze to his feet, trying his best not to acknowledge the blow he felt. He pulled his jacket on and folded his arms across his chest as an awkward silence grew between them, and was about to leave when Nathan spoke again.

"Harold, I –"

"He asked me to come," Harold interrupted, "that's why I'm here. He wanted someone to talk to."

"I never mean to upset him," Nathan said, taking his turn to look at his feet.

"I know," Harold answered honestly.

"But he doesn't," Nathan completed.

"No, he doesn't," Harold attested.

Nathan chuckled a bit, shaking his head.

"What?" Harold asked, taken aback.

"When you said he was just like me, you were right," Nathan said, smiling a little.

"Well, I –"

"The only person he can talk to is the only person who would rather spend his days with computers than people," Nathan interrupted, "and he will never have a single damn chess win to show for it."

Before Harold could answer, Nathan had turned and reentered the house, leaving the front door ajar. As he pulled his coat a little tighter, he allowed himself a diminutive smile. He was glad Will wanted to confide in him; it reminded him of simpler times when Nathan did.

Minutes later Will was bounding out the front door, several more layers shielding his body from the wind.

"I can come with you!" he said excitedly, almost plowing into Harold.

"Excellent," he answered with a smile, "I'm parked right around the corner," he gestured at the street.

Will was off running toward the car in a heartbeat, his bag of items flopping behind him.

"He has everything he needs for the night," Nathan said as he walked back outside, standing next to Harold, "but you might want to feed him at some point."

"I'll try and remember that," Harold said with a grin as he stood next to his longtime friend, both of them looking out at the dreary day.

"I don't know how to fix anything, Harold," Nathan said with a sigh, "I never have."

"You know how to fix computers," Harold said lightheartedly.

"If it worked the same way I would have hired you to fix my life a long time ago," Nathan said with raised eyebrows, "although I suppose you've tried, anyway. I'm un-fixable."

"There's a way to fix everything – it just takes more advanced programming, sometimes."

"I wish I could pull lines like that out of my ass while I was trying to save my marriage," he said dryly.

Harold laughed openly and glanced at the smiling man, shaking his head.

"You could try honesty, that might get you some points," Harold suggested.

"I think I'll just have you write me what to say in advance," Nathan said as he patted Harold's shoulder, "you understand human nature pretty well for someone who won't talk to the species."

"I guess that's what you get from listening instead of talking," Harold said, cocking an eyebrow, "I should probably go before your son thinks I abandoned him."

"We wouldn't want him thinking both of us had," Nathan sighed, "put in a good word for me, will you?"

"I'll do my best," Harold said, walking down the steps and away from the house.

"Harold," Nathan called before he was out of earshot, causing him to pause and turn around.

"What I said earlier," he continued, "I didn't mean it. Someday you'll make a much better husband and father than I ever was."

Harold stood with his mouth open, ready to answer, but Nathan had already gone inside. When he turned to walk toward his car, he ran the possibility through his mind. A wife, kids. But, he would never meet anyone. He didn't have Nathan's charm – he could talk to computers, not people. Even if he did, he wouldn't marry or have children. The uncertainty of whether or not it would last was too much. There was no code to program the perfect family.

"How did you convince him to let me come?" Will asked excitedly as Harold climbed into the driver's seat.

"Oh, it wasn't too hard," Harold said lightly, looking at the wad of enthusiasm bouncing around in his backseat.

"You always know what to say, Uncle Harold," Will said, beaming, "I hope I'm just like you someday."

Giving him a sad smile, Harold started the car.

Will would grow into the man who always knew what to say, the man with all the answers – but he wouldn't be Harold.

Harold would just be listening.


End file.
